While I am sure others have covered quite a bit I can only share why I didn't tell for three years - because I was 4-7 year old boy who had no idea what trauma he had been subjected to and was made to feel even more guilty about it by my perp. IT WAS NOT YOUR FAULT. Period.

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"Life is like this dark tunnel. You may not always see the light at the end of the tunnel, but if you keep moving, you will come to a better place." ~ General Iroh

Even after 18 years of flashbacks, I don't remember if I told, if anyone found out, if there was any legal or medical consequence--I don't remember anything that might have happened after I rolled onto my back and found he was gone.

Why didn't I tell? It's all about secrets, that's why. It's ALL about secrets. Asking why we didn't tell is the wrong question. If any question needs to be posed, it should from us: "Why didn't you ask?"

My bf came forward recently in an effort to stop his father from continuing the very long and tragic string of abuse onto his nephews. Now that the scum bag is behind bars he feels comfortable enough to talk about going to therapy. J(bf) and have been dating for 5 months. I know that doesn't seem like a long time and it isn't. I am the first girlfriend he has been open with about the abuse, and there are a MILLION questions I want to ask but I don't want to alienate him or make him feel like I am inspecting like a judge at a dog show, considering the short length of time we have been together. But I have found myself at this point in our relationship where I can't wrap my head around why he didn't come forward sooner. I am also a survivor of sexual abuse but it occurred much later in my life and only once. It was an isolated event and I know it's wrong to compare the two but it's hard to see past my own anxiety of fight or fight, wanting to burn this monster who hurt him, not upsetting him further by my own emotions and on top of it all being patient enough to hear and understand him without bombarding him with questions.

Suwanee, thank you for your story. It gives me hope that I'm not screwing anything up by not asking "why didn't you tell someone?".

I didn't tell for a number of reasons, probably the biggest of which is that I didn't understand that I could. You know, the words "rape" and "molestation" are one thing. The reality is something else. And the idea--the version that appears in Websters or something--is never the same as what actually happens, especially when we never like to look at things with clear eyes in our culture. The neighbor/babysitter who molested me told me that it was fun. It wasn't fun. It hurt. It was humiliating and terrifying. But he said it was fun. He told me that this is what people do, that this was how we'd get ready to have sex with girls. He told me that I liked it. Sometimes, while that shit was happening, I laughed. And yet I was so scared. I felt like he might kill me. And it hurt me, physically and emotionally and psychologically. I was just a piece of meat to him, and I had no idea how to deal with that. I was a piece of meat, and he used me. And I felt humiliated and utterly dirty. And so, no, I didn't tell anyone, because I didn't know that what happened to me was rape. Well, there was a part of me that knew, but I didn't want to believe it. I was scared that it was true. I was scared that I'd become a child-molester. But if my mind ever thought of what happened to me, I just turned my head away and tried to bury the thought. I was ashamed and scared, and I just wanted that reality to go away. That's why I never told someone. When I finally opened my mouth, what I said was, "Fucked up shit went down at.... when I was a kid." That was actually the word I used. Not rape. Not child abuse. Fucked up shit. And that's the truth. That was the phrase that I had in my mind for what had happened. I literally lacked the language to tell! And I also knew... I swore... that I would take my secret to the grave. And I would have if those secrets and the terrible way I dealt with them hadn't blown up in my life about four years ago.

So, no, what your godmother said was hurtful, wrong, misinformed, and destructive. But I'm glad you posted about it, because that's a common sentiment out there in the world, where so many people would rather blame the victim, would rather pretend that this sort of thing doesn't happen.

Well, hey, motherfuckers, this does happen! And it is HIGH TIME THAT IT STOPPED!

As a toddler what are you supposed to say? What reference do you have to compare whatís being done to you? In my case when everyone knew, no one did a thing, my father a very devout man basically said it was gods will that his father did me; how are you supposed to deal with this as a 4 year old; let alone at any age? I answer this listening to ďdirty blvdĒ, just where I belong, dirty blvd; dead or dying. Itís so hard to live with yourself, you can see yourself just fading away, and donít care, just take me in my sleep please; I just need peace please, Iím so tired of fighting, and donít care anymore, if donít wake up tomorrow someone listened to my prayers.

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"it has never yet been discovered how to make man unknow his knowledge, or unthink his thoughts"

Will - don't be sorry for the rant - i hope it helped to express it. instead, be sorry for the boy that even knew that those things were possible.

and - NO - it is not possible to tell these things at age 13 - except in VERY unusual circumstances. or at 14 or 16 or... even less at 11 or 9 or 7 or... Obviously none of us were in those circumstances - because here we all are now, collecting on secret deposits in a secret account that kept on accruing compound interest.

Lee

Edited by traveler (12/02/1203:49 AM)

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"My experience has shown me that I all too often tend to deny that which lies behind, but as I still believe, that which is denied cannot be healed." Brennan Manning, "All is Grace - A Ragamuffin Memoir"

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